string of pearls
by traversing
Summary: drabbles based on prompts i get from my tumblr. variety of pairings and characters, all pjo.
1. headphones

**A/N: these are all the prompts i get from tumblr, so yes. all pjo/hoo, variety of pairings (but probably mostly percabeth). all unedited.**

**clockworkqueene prompted; "you know you're singing to your headphones out loud, right"**

* * *

After a brief stumble with the the nearly burning seat belt–how is one even supposed to work this thing when it feels like it's going to melt her hand?–Hazel's settled into the dark leather that lines the back row.

If she were to tilt her head just slightly to the left, she'd see that Annabeth sits in the driver's seat, hands on the wheel of the car, focus on anything but the road in front of her. Her attention, of course, is pulled instead to the dark haired teen next to her, as he jokes about something Hazel doesn't quite understand.

She would've taken the passenger seat, but in everything she's faced, she might be a little concerned. Not that her friend isn't a good driver, but she hasn't taken to the larger vehicles like the rest of the kids her age.

Instead, she fiddles with this little black box Leo had made for her, flat but sturdy. He said it was a music player–how music could come out of that, she wasn't sure of, but stranger things had happened–and had said that it could help her get her mind off of stressful situations. Or when she's bored.

Which she _definitely _is now. So Hazel finds herself untwisting the white plastic cords it came with, and pushing the harder bits into her ears–they feel uncomfortable, did she do it right?–and finds the play button on the music player.

Leo had said he went ahead and loaded it up with songs–songs that he said are currently popular, and for some reason she trusts him. Well, not really, but how much harm could it do? The first one, full of mostly synthetic beats, surrounds her, and she's not really a fan. She suffers through a heinous playlist, until she comes to an upbeat song that she's heard before.

The chorus is repetitive, the tune catchy, and she's humming along with it. Then, she's belting out the words that she knows, and there's this awesome rush that's coming out of this.

With her eyes closed, she jumps when she feels a tap on her shoulder. Her eyelids flutter open, and she sees Percy, a genuine smile on his face.

"You do know that we can hear you, right?"

Her face has never been redder.


	2. seaweed

**silenhabeauregard; prompt: percy giving his son his first swimming lesson**

* * *

"You'd think with his dad being the son of the sea god, and you being good at everything, your kid'd be a natural in the water." Piper bumps her shoulder playfully, watching from their place in the sand.

In truth, Annabeth had thought the same thing. They'd all assumed Evan–Percy had fought _so _hard for it to be Michael, but she'd put her foot down because that was definitely not happening–was going to be doggy-paddling before he turned a year old, but he's become almost scared of the water.

So now, at four years old, he's getting his first swimming lesson at the canoe lake. Percy'd figured that giving it in a more natural environment they could both (hopefully) control more easily would help, but so far, he's only got his son ankle deep in the water–most of it being mud anyway.

"It's okay, bud," Percy reassures, and reaches down to hold his tiny hand in his.

Evan pouts. "Can we go home please? Or can we play with wine dude and Chrion?"

His father doesn't bother to correct him on either name, instead pulling gently on his arm, going deeper. The child is rooted to his spot.

"I'm not gonna go!"

He got his stubbornness from his mother.

Percy sighs, then leans down onto his knees. "What's wrong?"

"There's the hands grabbin' me! I don't want them to grab me!" Evan cries, and his distress genuine. Percy furrows his eyebrows.

"What hands?" He asks.

He hiccups, tears streaming down his cheeks, then points to a conglomeration of dark green leaves a few feet away.

Seaweed.


	3. date

**beckendorph prompted: can I ask another prompt? um probably percy grilling his daughter's first date but the boy is handling it too smoothly and percy is like "I can't find anything WRONG WITH HIM"**

* * *

He knows teenaged boys.

Even if he didn't have the typical adolescence, full of video games and an easily excitable appendage, his current position as a high school independent studies teacher ensures that he's well acquainted with them. In all honesty, he likes them; he likes talking to _all_ of the students in his classes, spending hours of the day with them.

Percy also knows his daughter. Her strange habit of putting a straw through the tab in her soda can is not new to him, nor is her particular affinity for cheaply made horror movies.

What he's not aware of, of course, is the way she's taken a liking to boys recently.

"You have a _what_?"

He's sort of been in denial, ever since Annabeth had told him about their daughter's various crushes over the past few years. If he doesn't recognize that, _yes, _she's a beautiful girl who has garnered the affection of other young adults, then the subject will never come up and he can pretend that she wears the little pink dresses she'd stopped wearing when she hit middle school.

"Dad, I have a date tonight." Lucy has her arms crossed over her chest, and a rather stubborn expression upon her face.

Her father furrows his eyebrows. "Why was I not aware of this."

"Because she knew you'd freak out," Annabeth adds helpfully, from her place on the couch. A pair of glasses is perched upon her nose, her attention still (mostly) on the thick book in her hands.

"I'm not freaking out," he says, then back pedals, his eyes darting to his wife. "Wait–you _knew?"_

"Yup."

Percy looks back at his daughter. "Who is this boy?"

"He's in your third period."

"Is it that Cory kid? I thought I'd seen him staring at you in the hallways after class last week. He is _so _not passing this ter–"

Lucy cuts him off. "No, Dad, it's not Cory. And don't you dare fail anyone just because I like them."

The only sound he makes is a grumble, and she continues.

"He'll be here in half an hour. Don't kill him."

And then she's up the stairs before he can reply.

;;

Percy will not admit that he's staked out the doorway, his eye to the peephole as he waits for the soon to be dead meat to come up the steps.

"Put that away," Annabeth says, and he glances back to see her rolling her eyes. "He's a nice kid."

"How would _you _know?"

She scowls. "I work at the school, too."

"Who is he?" He demand, finally turning away from the door.

Annabeth shrugs. "He's a nice kid, like I said. You like him, already."

"No I don't."

"You like all of your students."

"Not the ones who date my daughter."

She sighs, and looks like she's about to say something else, but is interrupted by the knocking on the heavy oak a few feet away.

Percy readies himself with a frown, and moves to open it. In front of him, is a boy that he's, previously, taken a liking to–Michael Landon, chestnut hair falling to just above his eyebrows, a dark blue hoodie over his shoulders.

"Hey Mr. Jackson," he greets, smiling, then nods to Annabeth on his left. "Mrs. Jackson."

"What are you doing here?"

Michael's entire expression changes, and now he seems more uneasy. "We're–um, ah–going to see a movie."

"What movie?"

"There's Halloween playing at the ah-AMC on eighty-fourth street," he answers, stuttering slightly.

Percy grins, and his wife knows automatically that it isn't pleasant. "Sit down."

;;

Thirty minutes later, Lucy's still standing in the kitchen waiting for her father to finish interrogating her date. Her mom's next to her, sitting on a bar stool and eating from a bowl of cut strawberries.

"When will he be done?"

Annabeth shrugs. "He's spent the last few years denying that you were anything but his little girl."

"We're going to miss the movie," her blond daughter groans.

"I told you should have got it for a later time," the older woman pauses. "I've known the guy longer than I haven't, and I don't think he's even halfway through yet."

In the living room, Percy's been growing increasingly frustrated with the questioning.

To each of his inquiries, Michael's been able to respond smoothly.

"Have you gotten in trouble with the law? If you lie, you know that I can just ask around."

Michael raises his eyebrows. "I haven't ever. I've got a clean slate."

"No petty thefts?" Negative. "No cheating on tests?" Again, the answer is no. "Ever gotten into a fight?"

"Yes."

"Aha!"

"Defending my little sister. When I was eight."


	4. bickering

**beckendorph****:**** "they will be written promptly ahaha" I LOVE YOU okay can u write like frank and hazel watching percy and annabeth bicker (and then start wrestling or something IDK) and they're like ? how does that relationship even work**

* * *

When Hazel first hears about her friend's girlfriend, she's under the pretense that they were completely, inexplicably in love–though, that could easily be attributed to his severe memory loss.

It was all, really, in the way the boy's eyes light up when he reveals something about her–whether it be her long blond hair (which apparently fell in breathtaking waves down her back, when it wasn't tied up and out of the way); her eyes, dark as storm clouds, or as clear as the sky after a summer rain; or even the way she just made him laugh while saving his life.

She'd have to say that he's love-stricken, and Frank isn't far from agreeing with her. So, of course, when it comes to the fateful meeting of the two demigod groups, she can honestly say she's more interested in meeting this, than anything else.

She blushes when the two kiss–it seems straight out of a novel, how they can't seem to keep from running to each other, Percy lifting his hands to her chin while she winds her arms around his neck to bring him closer.

It's definitely a surprise to, well, everyone when he's suddenly on the ground, and Annabeth has her knee against his chest, her forearm on his throat.

Hazel can't hear the conversation, but then the pair is laughing and she's giving him a hand up. It seems to be nothing new to them, though.

;;

Frank, on the other hand, is completely bemused when he's sitting at a cafe, Hazel across from him, and a familiar blond and dark-haired duo a few tables over.

He can easily read the menu–something that he's come to feel blessed with–and is telling the waitress his order of fries and a strawberry milkshake (which he now remembers he's allergic to–oh well), when it starts.

"You need to let go of this obsession."

His eyes float to Percy, who's scowling. "It's not an obsession. It's a simple request."

"That you've made nearly a hundred times since we've started dating."

"I don't see what the big deal is."

"Your insides have _got _to be blue."

"Wouldn't they be purple?"

"That's not the point."

"Yeah, the point is that you don't want me to enjoy life."

Hazel looks at him then, her eyes wide because she's confused, too, and whispers, "What's going on?"

His eyebrows furrow. "I don't know."

"How do they do it?" she asks.

"I don't know that, either."

Their attention turns back to the pair, who have taken to glaring at each other.

Annabeth speaks first, "You're an idiot, Percy Jacks–."

Leaning over the table, Percy cuts her off, pressing his lips to hers, and they both take on a rather silly smile. "Yeah."

;;

When it's all time to go, they're making their way down the sidewalks to his mom's apartment, which are deserted because _it's raining_, but Annabeth swears that it's easier that trying to flag down a cab in this weather.

Hazel and Frank take a place in front, carrying the sole umbrella, because the son of the sea god claims they don't need it, and try–and fail–to carry on a normal conversation with the bickering they hear behind them.

"If we had left earlier, we could have avoided this."

"It doesn't even matter, you've got me."

"Oh yes, it's worse."

There's a sharp shriek, and Hazel turns her head in time to see the blond covered head to toe in water, though Percy seems perfectly dry.

She's basically shooting daggers at him with her eyes, though it isn't a new development, then pushes him off the curb. Thus, his concentration slips, and now he's doused, and they're chasing each other down the bike lane, both completely soaked.

They're shouting something at each other–possibly obscenities, probably worse–and then they're wrapped around each other again, with cyclists cursing at them when they have to go around the pair.

"I–"

Frank cuts her off, "I know."


	5. sleep

**Anonymous:** percy waiting for annabeth to wake up from being in a coma.

* * *

He wonders how much she'd hate this room.

The walls are stark white, as are the sheets and the pillows and the floors and the cabinets. It's so ridiculously plain, there isn't a doubt in his mind that Annabeth would find it distasteful, because while she isn't necessarily one the most, well, colorful people (though her choice in language might contradict this), he's seen her in beautiful, warm colors.

"It'd be nice, ya know," he muses, "if they changed out the chairs. How is someone supposed to sit here and _not _get numb." Percy scrunches his nose, deep in thought. "Though I don't think the bed's much better."

She doesn't respond.

Her chest is rising and falling though, of its own accord rather than from a machine, so he can pretend Annabeth's just taking a nap and soon enough she'll wake up and teasingly ask if he's been sitting there all day.

He has.

Percy's hands move from their resting place on his thigh, gliding slowly to cover one of hers that lays by her side. His thumb rubs softly on the back of her hand.

It wasn't even a damn monster. It wasn't some vengeful god, or even a training practice gone wrong.

Instead, it was an utter _idiot, _who had probably gone out for a night of drinks, probably didn't even have the sense to call a cab like every other clubber when they'd had one too many.

"San Francisco is really nice," Percy says. "You should show me around, when you wake up. I don't think we've gotten the chance. Both times I was here, either I had no idea who I was, or you'd just gotten done holding up the sky."

He lets out a huff of laughter. "I really want to ride one of those segway things, I heard they're fun."

"Knowing me, though, I'll probably lose my balance a million times and I'll end up the one in the hospital bed."

The purple shadow above her eyebrows, the cuts spidering across her cheek; they stand out against her unnaturally pale skin.

Percy bites his bottom lip. "I think we missed that movie we were supposed to see. I guess we could see it another time, because I'm not seeing a chick flick without you. They'll make fun of me _so _bad." His eyes drop to her mouth, the corner only just beginning to heal.

"Too bad an alarm clock won't help too much."

He waits.


	6. homecoming

**Anonymous:** annabeth wins homecoming queen and percy keeps teasing her about it

* * *

Out of everything, the dress is causing her the most anguish.

Really, it's a beautiful garment.

The jet-black bodice clings to her torso in a pleasant sort of way, and at her hips starts the dark red skirt, which puffs out slightly and ends at her knees. It has enough cover that she can hide a small dagger in a sheath strapped to her thigh, and plenty of give that doesn't restrict her range of motion, in case of a probable monster attack.

Piper suggested it, when they'd gone shopping–a trip to Macy's where she had to drag the blond–and at the time Annabeth hadn't wanted to go into an all out battle, because they'd end up there for hours. They did anyway, but it wasn't her who was shoved into the dressing rooms–Piper had gone to the checkout desk with nearly a dozen different outfits of her own.

No, the dress itself is fine.

It's just so incredibly cold in the stadium, the amount of skin it leaves bare makes her want to burrow into a blanket while she waits for the winners to be announced.

The fact that the boy next to her is smirking, this gods-awful expression crossing his face, wrapped in a thick hoodie while her breath turns into a fog near her mouth, doesn't help at all.

"Fuck off," Annabeth mutters.

He grins. "That's not the language a queen should be using."

"A queen can say whatever she wants," she grumbles.

Percy rolls his eyes, instead brushing a lock of her hair–which thankfully falls naturally as ringlets–and attaches his lips to an area right below her ear.

She closes her eyes–she wasn't paying attention to the players scurrying around on the field–and relishes in the moment. It's almost bordering on public indecency when he murmurs against her skin.

"So I guess this makes me the king, huh?"

Annabeth pulls back so suddenly her chin actually knocks into his forehead, and punches his shoulder. "More like the court jester."

"Hey!"

She snickers, and then stands. "I have to go anyway, I'm supposed to go meet with the others so we can walk on the field together."

"Do you have to?"

Her heels are already clicking on the uneven steel before she even looks back at him, grinning. "My royal chariot awaits."


	7. cheer

**anonymous: annabeth is an olympic gymnast and percy is a super hardcore team USA supporter who cheers very enthusiastically and out of turn**

* * *

The hard floor of the gymnasium is cool against her partially bare feet. In the roar of the stadium, Annabeth can't quite focus on anything apart from the uneven bars nearly twenty feet away.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, and turns her head slightly to see Piper, an eighteen year old girl with a knack for charming the judges, mouthing 'break a leg' to her, just as the announcer is calling her to the platform.

The rest of her teammates wish her luck, and the crowd grows quiet as she moves to her beginning place on the mat.

"Representing the United States of America, Annabeth Cha–"

His words, however, are interrupted by a loud, enthusiastic cheer that lasts for quite some time, coming from a single person.

They're somewhere to her right, probably in the stands. Instead of breaking her concentration though, she narrows her eyes further, allowing the smallest of smiles to form on her lips.

"–Annabeth Chase."

;;

It happens again the next day, when she's preparing for the beam.

Annabeth's relationship with the long hunk of wood is one full of distrust, and well, _fall-_outs. She glares at it, wishing it'd catch fire already.

"I see the feud's still going," Piper says, an amused expression on her face, her arms crossed over her chest.

The blond huffs. "Not my fault."

The other girl laughs, and pats her forearm, reassuring her that she's going to do great. "You'll probably bury the rest of us, beat out Russia, too."

"I'll buy you a milkshake after if I do."

"Hedge'll have your throat."

Annabeth grins, and as she's called to the floor, and the stadium goes silent, she readies herself, and hears it again.

_"Chase! Chase! Chase!" _

This time, her eyes flicker to its source–it's the same person (she assumes)–and she sees a solitary figure standing up, pumping his fist in the air repeatedly. He's a blur of blue and white and red, and his cheers, while appreciated, are totally out of place.

The people around him are looking at him, probably annoyed. Annabeth finds herself grinning, though, and a new surge of optimism rushes through her.

Then her music starts, and a few hours later, she and Piper are sneaking out of the Village to the closest all-night diner.

;;

And then she's on the floor.

Annabeth's already turning to the whoops and hollers, she's expecting it. T Her face splits into another grin, and her routine goes on .

After, she slips on her thin jacket again, unwraps the bandages from her feet. She's pulled into a hug, from all of her teammates.

When they break apart, Piper's smirking.

"You've definitely got an admirer," she teases, nudges her in the ribs before slinging an arm around her shoulder. She tosses a pointed look to the stands.

Annabeth bites her lip, her eyes flitting to the same spot.

The man is flailing wildly, still, covered in–is that _paint? _He's shirtless, his torso completely plastered in the colors of the american flag. "Do you know the guy?"

"Yeah," Piper says. "He's a friend of Jason's– the bronze medalist for men's volleyball–"

"So this guy's a volleyball player?"

"No, that's Jason," Piper laughs. "This guy's just a fan, I'm pretty sure. Though I've heard word that he's training for the snowboarding team for Pyeonchang–"

"South Korea?"

"The one and only."

Annabeth scrunches her eyebrows. "Name?"

"I told you, he'll be at Pyeonchang." At her glare, the girl laughs. "Percy Jackson."

* * *

**a/n: be aware that i have no clue about gymnastics, or the olympics, so this is all a guess. though i did google the 2018 winter olympics, so you can be proud of me for that.**


	8. little merman

**anonymous: percy as the little merman**

* * *

If he's being completely honest, Percy would admit that he feels like a fish out of water, even though he does have the scaly bottom half of a fish and that he's, well, _in _the water.

It's not that he's ungrateful, because he has a pretty sweet life. He's the youngest son of the king of the ocean, for gods' sake, but while he should be so incredibly content with what he has–he has all the little knick-knacks and thing-a-ma-bobs, after all–he wants _more. _

He doesn't foresee that the "more"he wants is not in the ocean, or in the friends that he has, but above the water, out in the open air.

On_ land._

Percy's not really supposed to be so close to the island, but after a particularly nasty fight with his father about _responsibilities _and _obligations, _he took off, warning the small green fish he calls a friend not to follow, because while he greatly appreciates his help, the young merman really needs to be alone right now.

He doesn't realize how much distance he covered until he nearly collides with a wooden post.

_Huh, _Percy thinks, because those aren't really supposed to be in the water, from what he's aware of–aren't those only on those boat things, anyway? He pulls up sharply, only to have his vision obscured by something that darkens the sea.

Swimming backwards, he tries to find the closest available source of light, which is nearly four meters away. His gaze lift to the sky–fortunately, the humans haven't polluted the water so much that he can't see through the clear water–and even that is blocked by something else.

It's a long piece of fabric–a skirt!–and a pair of fleshy limbs sticking out from the bottom of it. He treads backwards, trying to get a better look, and attached to the things he's pretty sure are legs is an entire body!

Well, _that _is slightly obscured by a huge–is that a _book_?–but he can see blond curls falling down their back, and Percy guesses that the face behind the book is that of a girl's, because no other boy he knows has that pretty of hair–it's the equivalent of a princess's locks.

She must be beautiful.

He knows he'll get in trouble for it, well, if anyone _found out, _he would, but Percy doesn't care, so he lifts his head above the water line, the waves lapping lightly at his own hair, and says, as charmingly as he can, "Hello!"

The girl jumps, nearly so much that she falls off the wooden platform she's sitting on, but unfortunately, her book tumbles out of her grasp and into the blue water below.

"Oh!" she cries out, seemingly not even seeing Percy.

He dives to find her fallen text–the water isn't very deep, and it wasn't yet on the sandy bottomk. When he comes back up to the surface, the girl seems angry, instead of grateful for him going after her book.

"That was a mean trick to play!" She shouts, pursing her lips, and refusing to reach down when he lifts up his arm to return it. "I don't want it now, it's all wet!"

Percy scrunches his eyebrows. "Why would that be bad?"

"I can't read a wet book!"

"Why not?" He asks, and she looks like she's about to shout again, but then her expression changes again.

Confusion falls upon her face. "What are you doing in the water? There have been shark reportings, you know."

"Yeah, so?" He doesn't understand. Why would that be bad? He changes tact. "I'm sorry, for startling you."

She frowns. "You're not forgiven. That was one of my favorites."

"What was it about?" Percy's genuinely interested, and saddened that he has caused her such anguish.

"It was about a little mermaid, of all things." A sharp intake of breath comes from him then, but she doesn't notice. "Silly, I know. But it was quite sad, actually–she falls in love with a human, but he doesn't love her back."

Percy bites his lip. "That is sad–how did it end?"

"She, well, she made a deal with a sea demon," she laughs. "to give her _legs. _So she could be with a guy who she didn't even know. She was sixteen, and she died. Turns into sea foam."

"Oh."

The girl smiles. "My mother should have another copy in her library, or maybe next time she goes to Gilbans she can buy another."

"What's your name?" Percy's always been blunt, and he's already said sorry–he really does regret washing away her book, after all.

"Annabeth," she says, grinning so widely he knows she _has _to be a princess, because it'd be criminal if she wasn't treated as such. "And yours?"

"Percy."

Annabeth nods. "Do you have a favorite novel?"

"I–uh, I don't read much," he replies honestly. He spends more time with his friends than anything, away from his father and the rest of the kingdom for as long as he can. "But I suppose I like adventure."

"How about Alexandre Dumas? I can lend it to you, if you would like?" It comes off more of a question than an answer. His head is bobbing up and down before the words escape his lips. "Will you be here tomorrow, around the same time?"

Percy scratches at a spot behind his ear. "I–I don–yeah," he says, after he sees the disappointed look on her face. A face as pretty as that should never been so sad. "I will."

"It's a date."

Then, he's sure, just like the little mermaid, that he's already in love.

* * *

**a/n: **sorry, i might write more of this, not sure. if you'd like a continuation of anything, or to prompt something else, just go to my tumblr (dmigod) and prompt me, and i will write. thanks!


	9. college

**anonymous: Jiper with college au and maybe some percabeth**

**a/n: whoops**

* * *

College isn't what she'd pictured it.

Being considered one of the more wild children of Hollywood–even though the altercation with the douche son of some actor and the hotel pool was not, in anyway, her fault–Piper had heard so many things about university life. When the topic came up among her friends, their conversations tended to gravitate to the _partying_ part of it; the getting drunk and pregnant and basically dropping out.

Sure, she's been invited to a few frat house parties.

Once by this girl down the hall from her, and another from a boy in her history class. She hasn't taken either of them up on their offer, because she's been slammed with schoolwork since the start of term, and has begun to realize that so far, her diet consists mostly of energy bars and ramen.

She expected to sleep with a couple guys during her time here, maybe a girl if she felt so inclined. Instead, the only action she's been getting is with her pillow, and even her desk when she falls asleep during a study session. There might be a bit of drool staining the wood permanently.

Now, Piper's doing what she's been doing for the past two months–going down to the cafeteria for breakfast, eyeing the rather extensive fruit bar, and grabbing a plate of honeybuns before sitting down at a little table off in the corner.

She's just gotten going on her second dessert (which she is considering as a meal, thank you very much) when something across the table catches her eye.

_No, _Piper corrects herself, _someone._

There's this blond guy on the other side now, a bright smile on his face with a little white scar on his upper lip. "Mind if I sit? There aren't anything other seats."

She raises an eyebrow. It's too damn early for her to be pleasant. "You're already doing it, so you might as well."

They eat in silence for a few moments–he's got this bowl of oatmeal and blueberries, and she inwardly groans because he's one of _those guys._When she finishes, Piper stands and shifts her bag onto her shoulder, muttering a goodbye.

But before she can move more than a few feet away, he calls out to her. "You've got Biology next, right? With Brown?" When she nods hesitantly–there isn't a point in lying, if she'll just be seeing him next–he grins.

"Would you mind helping me study? I know you've got like, a perfect score, in her class, and I'd really appreciate it–"

She stops him there. "I've got this big final to study for in Psych, so I can't, I'm sor–"

"That's great! I majored in it, I could help you out."

Piper bites her lip, thinking of the proposition; she _really_needs any tutoring she can get. When she lets a small smile grace her face in agreement, the kid's own grin grows so much she's almost positive he's on drugs.

;;

She's really glad that she took the guy who crashed on her rather poor breakfast up on his offer.

Jason, as she later finds out is his name, might be annoyingly upbeat and optimistic, but he really does know his stuff.

Not _that _stuff.

Though, Piper will admit that she's thought about it. He lives off campus, mainly because he grew up in the city and his best friend already has a place here, that they're willing to share ("I'd gripe and complain if they didn't"). She hasn't heard much about his second half, other than the fact that they're a huge pain, but she hasn't really asked.

The pair has just gotten done studying some whack-job theory (something about the sexual fixation concerning child development, she finds it completely weird). She's got his still icy smoothie–because she finished hers _way _too fast and he gets distracted real easy–that tastes of mango and pineapple and is basically heaven in a plastic cup.

Jason invites her to his place, because he says his roommate can make a _mean _chocolate cake and they owe him a favor–and she isn't one to turn down food, no matter how many fries she's just scarfed down.

When they roll up, there isn't a car in the driveway other than his dingy Chevy he got from his dad for his sixteen birthday–the last time he heard to him. She's learned a lot about him over these past few weeks, and he knows more about her than she'd like to think.

"Dude, even Freud is alright with you," Piper laughs as she slams closed the door on her side.

He chuckles. "I don't think Freud is alright with anyone."

The grin that spreads across her face then is something she doesn't even realize is there. She doesn't want to stop it, and he doesn't seem to want to either, because when they get to the light blue door–"I can't even tell you the story behind this one"–she makes sure to tilt her head up enough to meet his lips with her own.

It's a simple, light pressure, but it's something that's been building for quite some time, so even though it's chaste, when she settles back on the balls of her feet, she's pretty damn satisfied.

His smile might be brighter than hers.

Then he grabs her hand, enfolding it in his own, and leads her into the small home.

"You hungry?"

She laughs. "Always."

When they're inside, she admires that even though it's not necessarily the most tasteful house she's been in–and she's been in _a lot_–it's something that just screams _home _to her. There's a pile of thick books on the worn coffee table, in front of a light gray couch that had a few pillows tucked into the corners. A wooly blanket is draped over the back of one of the chairs in small den.

Before she can ask where the kitchen is, there's this cool feeling on her lips and she's still grinning, and then she's wrapping her arms around his neck and really has it been this long since she's kissed someone like this–

"Jason!"

An angry voice cuts off all her pleasant thoughts and Piper's gaze is directed to a figure standing in the doorway of what she presumes to be the kitchen. It's a girl, maybe a couple years older than her with long, blond curls and legs to die for–which are covered by next to nothing, just a long men's t-shirt and maybe a pair of barely-there shorts (she can't tell).

Piper raises an eyebrow–this better not be what she thinks it is. "Who the hell are you?"

"Who the _fuck_ are you?" The girl shoots back.

Before either of them can move towards another, Jason steps in between them, blocking their view of each other. He scratches the back of his head nervously, probably debating which way is quickest exit, and would garner him the least amount of physical harm.

"Ah, um–'beth, this is Piper," he explains dumbly to the other girl.

Around him, Piper can see her expression change almost instantly. "_The _Piper?"

Jason hums in agreement, and is about to introduce her to the strange girl, when she turns on him again.

"_You_," she says, jabbing a finger in his chest, "were supposed to get the milk."

He blushes, mumbling something about being caught up in other things, to which the girl rolls her eyes. She then sticks her hand out to Piper, who grasps it timidly–she hates when that word describes her actions. "I'm Annabeth."

"Jason's…?" Piper trails off.

She fills in the blank easily. "Roommate. Known 'im since we were in diapers. Too bad he's so bad at sex or–"

"You're not allowed to talk about that," Jason interrupts, his face erupting in a rather scarlet shade. "Plus, I'm not bad. I'm great, I'm definitely not–"

"Any good?" A new voice cuts in. Piper turns to see a tall man, maybe an inch or two shy of Jason's height, leaning against the opposite wall. He's cute in a scruffy kind of way, with shaggy dark hair and a crooked smirk, she notices as he makes his way over to where they are a few feet over. He's also sans a shirt, clad in only a pair of boxer shorts. "Nah, he's really not a bad lay, once you get past the weird rash on his–"

"Don't scare the poor girl." Annabeth says, chuckling.

Piper furrows her eyebrows. "If this is basically just a big orgy fest, you can tell me."

All three of them burst out in laughter, and after some time, the newcomer wipes tears from his eyes. "Nah, I think Annabeth's the only one who's had the misfortune of sleeping with this kid," he says, draping an arm around said "kid"'s neck.

"That was _one _time during senior year, and we were both drunk off our a–"

"Do I not mean anything to you?" Annabeth asks, her lips turning down in a mocking frown.

Jason pouts dramatically. "Too bad you'll be married in a couple years, settle down with a dog and two point five kids, because I think we really could've made it work."

The other man laughs, moving to stand next to the blond girl, placing a hand loose on her waist. "You should make your move now, pretty boy."

"Nah, Percy. I think you're entitled to her–I'm not sure what I'd do with her otherwise. Wouldn't be able to stand her for so long."

Annabeth rolls her eyes at their antics. "God, you two could be the subjects of a gay comedy, you know? Plus, we're totally monopolizing the conversation. Piper certainly doesn't want to know all about his inability in the bedroom."

Turns out that's _definitely _a lie.

* * *

**a/n: i have a couple more that i have yet to post, so when i get around to doing that, you should be a happy camper. i think a couple of percy x annabeth & one frank x hazel?**


	10. arrival

**ragingserenity asked: annabeth goes to san francisco to visit her dad, and when she comes back, percy's there to pick her up at the airport. maybe involving dropped bags and a tackle hug?**

* * *

He's anxious.

Honestly though, he's been a bundle of nerves ever since he'd seen her off–exactly six days, twenty hours, and seventeen minutes ago (yes, he counted). The jittery feeling in his stomach has yet to disappear, instead intensifying with each second that passes.

Realistically, Percy knows he shouldn't be worrying about anything–she's flown on an airplane before, multiple times, after all–but that pit keeps growing, because there are so many times he's almost lost her this year, and he doesn't want there to be any sort of chance.

He'd offered to go with her, even with his paralyzing fear of heights (though, considering they've saved the world a dozen times over, he shouldn't be worrying about Zeus striking them down in a hissy-fit), but Annabeth had declined–she really needed to see her mortal family, to give them the reassurance that _yes, _she was alive and not completely traumatized.

He wonders if she told them about Tartarus.

While they talked through Iris Message more times than he really should have counted (twenty one, if anyone asks), it wasn't the same as being on the same side of the country with her, to have her stay across the hall, in the apartment's little guest bedroom because her cabin at camp is still in construction, and his mom refused to have her rent out a hotel room (like she could afford it, anyway).

The clock above his head keeps ticking, its hands settled on the three and five, respectively. There aren't too many people in the airport other than himself and a man who looks like he's hired to pick someone up–it's incredibly late in the night (or early in the morning, if you're picky).

There are more scenarios running through his head right now, ones where he doesn't see Annabeth's tired, but smiling face in the crowd that's sure to be coming any moment now.

Percy's almost convinced himself of this one possible outcome, one that's plagued him ever since he'd seen her board the plane, and when that mechanical, female voice says that Flight 843 has safely arrived and will be unloading shortly, he actually punches a fist in the air, letting out a "Whoop!" that probably irritated the chauffeur.

The next twelve minutes are probably the longest he's been through since they got back from Greece. He waits nervously, fiddling with his hands and pacing more than he should – he's probably made a dent in the linoleum.

And then, there's a rush of people coming out of the terminal, the terminal she's supposed to be coming through, and just as the first wave has passed he sees a flicker of bright blond curls and he knows it more than he knows himself.

His feet pick up, and he's running, not giving a care about how cliché this all is, because the only thing he's registering in the thud her bag makes as it hits the ground, and the way his arms feel wrapped around her again, his lips pressing against hers and the smile he feels spreading on both of their faces.

Even though he hates heights, he's soaring higher than he ever has before.

* * *

**a/n: sorry for the cheese, aye. i have never been in an airport, i have not a clue how they work, so if something's off about it, don't badger me about it. **


End file.
